Page 11 of Duke of Pride (Sinful Dukes #4)

CHAPTER 11

Bold Claims

T he rest of the lunch was quick and procedural, both eager to leave the pub as fast as possible. Only to realize that they now had to share the carriage on the way back to the house.

Victoria curled her fingers into her skirt, hoping that this gesture would add merit to the prayers she sent for the ride to be quick, safe, and uneventful. And somehow her prayers were answered. At first, both remained silent and watched the scenery change from the bustling streets of London to the green countryside.

Perhaps it was the splendid view of rolling green hills, perhaps it was the exceptionally sunny day, or perhaps it was the fact that they had left London behind that made things brighter. And with it, the way he pulled her in his arms when she got almost run over by the carriage and the way looked at her in that private room.

“I never did thank you for lunch, Your Grace,” Victoria said demurely. “It was lovely and, to be honest, prudent. I do not think I would have survived the ride back without something substantial to sustain me. So, thank you.”

“No need. I do not think I have properly thanked you for everything you’ve done in the house either.”

“I am doing my duty as your mother’s companion and, above all, her friend.”

“Still, it would be impolite and ill-mannered to deny you the recognition of your invaluable help.”

“Always dutiful, Your Grace. Your mother is already doing enough thanking for both of you.”

“I am not in the habit of letting others shoulder my responsibilities.”

“I have noticed.” She chuckled. “So, lunch was your way of expressing your gratitude?”

“It seemed appropriate. You’ve gone above what was expected and beyond what was asked.”

Victoria blinked, barely believing what she was hearing. She struggled to detect dishonesty, but there was none. Stephen was a lot of things, but he was not a liar. If he didn’t want to talk about something, he simply wouldn’t answer.

“If that is the case, I regret not dragging you to Fortnum’s for dessert. It seems I undervalued my services.”

“My Lady, everyone knows that if you want a good slice of apple pie, you need to go to Piazza Café.”

“Your Grace! How would you even mention such a vulgar, raucous establishment!”

“The question is, how does a lady like you know about that place?”

“As you so painfully remind me almost daily, I am not of noble birth,” she said lightly, with not an inkling of offense. “I have visited the place with my brother.”

Stephen seemed thoughtful. She was, too. He had noticed she favored apple pie over all the other desserts. And he seemed ashamed to be reminded of how he had brought up her lineage before.

“The way you put it, it seems that we should have stopped by Piazza Café, after all. I have both gratitude to express and regrets to atone for.”

“Excessively melodramatic over a slice of apple pie,” Victoria snorted.

“Excuse me, but it happens to be a very good apple pie.”

Victoria liked him like this—lighter, livelier, kinder. His huge body relaxed, his broad shoulders comfortable, his moves less strained, his laughter easier. He was good-looking, she had noticed as much the moment Annabelle had introduced him to her.

Yet there was something icy cold about his beauty. Once, she had heard ladies talking about “melting the icy Duke.” But they should have reconsidered, seeing how the thawed Duke could prove ten times more dangerous.

“Miss Victoria.” He seemed determined to make this ride a confession booth. “It was unfair of me to judge your proximity with my mother.”

“Unfair? I could think of more accurate words, but I am taking my winnings and leaving.” She smiled, shaking her head.

“Perhaps I should scrap the rest of the speech I was going to give, since you seem to be easily satisfied.”

He was teasing her, she knew from his tone, but somehow his words registered differently, affecting her body in ways that shouldn’t be part of the conversation. She fumbled for a retort that would steer the conversation back in the safest direction.

He was going to say something nice, wasn’t he?

“It would be a shame to waste all the time you spent crafting that speech, Your Grace,” she said finally.

She tucked a curl behind her ear in an attempt to look composed. He followed that gesture and then pinned her with his azure eyes. He leaned forward and let his elbows rest on his knees.

“My mother…” He hesitated, his jaw tightening slightly before he pushed on. “She was fading. Grief does that. It makes ghosts of the living.”

Victoria swallowed.

“And then you came. With your endless chatter, your ridiculous ideas for a tea party, your new rules for croquet, and your refusal to take orders from anyone.” A hint of a smile flickered across his face, then faded. “You were kind to her. Not because it was your duty, but because you cared. And somehow, without ever asking for anything in return, you brought her back to herself.”

The way he looked at her, so steady, almost broke her.

“She eats properly now, she laughs, and she complains about silly, little things. Lord Prevost can protest in that shrill voice of his all he wants, but you made sure I didn’t lose my mother, too.”

Victoria blinked, her heart thudding in her ears. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out.

Stephen, sensing her surprise, leaned back into the carriage seat with a smirk. “Though I reserve the right to rescind that statement if lilac makes its way into my drawing room.”

Victoria laughed, startled and charmed. “If that’s the price for your mother’s laughter, I daresay even you could learn to live with a little lilac.”

“I should have toned the speech down to avoid insurrection.”

“Now that I know I am indispensable?—”

“From undervaluing to overpricing. Interesting.”

“You said that I made Dorothy happy, Your Grace.” She smirked. “You can keep her indefinitely happy, you know.”

“Is that so?”

“By keeping me around.”

Victoria saw his expression harden. Gone was the playful light in his eyes, gone was the light smirk. His countenance turned glacial, and his lips pressed into a thin line.

“Miss Victoria.” His voice was laced with a warning. “Do not ever presume what a duke wants.”

“I never made such a bold claim,” Victoria said in a sweet, biting lilt. “I do not know what a duke might want. But”—her eyebrow rose—“I do know what you want.”

A muscle feathered in his jaw, the only betrayal of the control he was barely clinging to. His lips—those infuriatingly perfect lips—parted slightly, not in invitation but in a silent warning.

“I have told you before, Victoria.” His voice dropped. “Do not push me.”

To prove his point, he leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his chin tucked so that his look was that of a wolf, ready to devour its prey.

Is this supposed to be intimidating?

Victoria wondered at that while her brain cataloged that look as the most scorching thing after the sun. Instead of leaning back and away from the very real possibility of getting burned, she too leaned forward, slowly , as if defying him was as natural as breathing.

“And I told you,” she returned, her voice steady, “that I know what you want. Even if you won’t admit it.”

“Do tell me,” he dared. “What is it that I want?”

Every little ounce of common sense evaporated when his molten voice filled the carriage.

Victoria tilted her head and blinked slowly as her eyes flashed. “Me.”

Stephen surged forward, the predator within him finally giving in to instinct. He was on his knees on the carriage floor and tangled in her skirts, his strong shoulders nudging her knees apart so he could nestle between them. And she let him.

No. She pulled him in.

His hand wrapped softly around her neck, guiding her mouth to his with such purpose that it stole her breath.

He took her mouth with raw, undeniable hunger. His lips were demanding, his kiss a battle and a surrender all at once. This kiss was all lips and teeth and the faint smell of the wine they had. He bit her lower lip, almost crazed by need.

“Stephen…” His name tumbled from her lips in a reverent whisper.

His response was to deepen the kiss, his tongue sweeping into her mouth, leaving her breathless and clinging to him. His other arm banded around her waist, dragging her across the carriage seat into him, into his length, into his desire.

She surrendered.

Her fingers found the lapels of his coat, and she pulled him impossibly closer, the space between them disappearing with the inevitability of a tide. And she didn’t care if she was going to be swept away or even drowned.

Her hand moved to explore his chest. Under the wrinkled fine linen, she could trace his hard muscles and measure time through the beat of his heart. Her fingers went for that one piece of clothing she loved to hate—his cravat. She undid the knot and threw his cravat away. The moment her fingers touched his collarbone, he snapped.

His fingers tangled in her curls, pulling at her pins like a crazed man, his mouth moving from her lips to her jaw, kissing and nipping.

“You dared to provoke me, Victoria,” he growled into her ear, the words vibrating on her skin. “Now, face the consequences.”

I am so glad I did.

She knew both of them wanted this.

Stephen pulled on her hair so tenderly yet firmly that she let her head fall on the velvet cushions of the seat as she surrendered herself to his mouth. And he chose devastation for dessert.

His tongue darted out just so that it teased her skin, making her aware of every little inch. Those open-mouthed kisses, right where her heart was pounding, would be something to be written on her tombstone.

Something hot coiled in her stomach, molten, undeniable. Her fingers went into his hair, desperate to keep him there, where he wreaked havoc on her skin. But he was not done.

“Look at me!”

Victoria did as he asked. Her eyes flicked to his, and she was floored by what she found in them. Gone was the refined, proper Duke. He was probably consumed by the feral animal looking down at her with those dark eyes. It was not sated, and she was its next meal.

To see the great Duke of Colborne so disheveled, so overcome with passion, did something to her that she didn’t dare to acknowledge. A whimper left her mouth—a deep, breathy sound that she didn’t recognize as the expression of her need.

“Is this what you wanted, Victoria?” he demanded, his mouth on her collarbone. “To see how far I would fall?”

“Yes,” she breathed.

With a curse that sounded more like the snarl of a wild beast, Stephen captured her lips again, his hands mapping her body with urgency. He rolled his hips against hers, and she begged for sanity. He ground into her again, the barriers of their clothing irrelevant when it came to the heat they were feeling.

Victoria arched into him, finding purchase on his shoulders. The hand that gripped her waist moved with intent up her side. Not slow, not tender, but decisive, overwhelming. Stephen was determined to ruin her, and she didn’t even mind.

His hand cupped the back of her neck, steady, guiding, keeping her where he wanted her, not restrictive, but dominant nonetheless.

Fresh heat pooled low in her stomach. The other hand slowly trailed up her body, the heat of his palm searing through the layers of silk, making her acutely aware of every inch between them. His thumb brushed the underside of her breast, and she gasped into his mouth.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured.

Never!

She took control of the kiss, pulling him in with her hands and her body, her fingers grazing his scalp. Her tongue flicked over his slowly, their breaths mingling, their bodies pressed together. Her prize was a deep moan, rumbling in his chest like the warning of a tempest.

His hands moved boldly, one fisting in her hair and angling her head exactly how he needed to take over and devour her mouth. But his other hand… it explored more, demanded more. Even through layers of fabric, he found her. The gentle mound of her breast yielded to his palm, and her body quivered deliciously at the contact.

“Oh God!” she panted.

As she broke the kiss, he dropped his mouth to her neck, savoring her skin, leaving soft bites that he soothed with his tongue.

“So responsive,” he murmured against her skin.

Victoria’s breath hitched as he stroked slowly, deliberately, over the fabric, circling a delicate peak with maddening precision. The friction of silk against her sensitized bare skin sent a wave of need through her. Her core was wet and pulsing with want. She arched into him instinctively, and his lips curved against her collarbone.

“Yes, Victoria.” His voice was thick with lust. “Do you know what you do to me?”

She tried to answer, but he chose that moment to press the pad of his thumb on her nipple. It was as if she was struck by lightning, a thrilling sensation taking over her body.

He leaned back just enough to gaze upon her face, his blue eyes dark and hooded. He dragged his teeth across his lower lip as if considering things he shouldn’t. And then he licked that same lip, throwing all caution to the passing meadows.

Slowly, with the precision of a man entirely in control and entirely undone, he brought his mouth to her nipple, now tight and aching.

“Stephen!” Victoria gripped his shoulders to keep from floating away.

He took her wanton cry as encouragement. And it was.

Victoria shivered, her thighs tightening around him, her hands clawing at him. His fingers skittered over her shoulders, pulling her dress down and exposing more of her skin, baring her to him.

His warm breath fanned her breast as it spilled over the fabric. His mouth closed around her nipple, hot and aching and slow, and she cried out. She truly cried out, not caring if anyone heard. Her hand flew to his hair, her fingers tangling in his curls, keeping him there.

He drew her into a rhythm of sucking, licking, gentle brushes and deep pulls. Every flick of his tongue made her body shake, her core rippling, looking for friction, for something she couldn’t even name. His hand moved, cupping her other breast, and his thumb grazed her nipple again and again. His mouth was hungry, his hands insatiable.

This double attack made her breath come in shallow bursts, if at all. Her legs drew up on either side of his body, cradling him, anchoring him to her as much as she was anchored to him. He rolled his hips into her once, and a new sensation rushed through her body. She arched into him, just to feel it again.

Not enough. More .

And then he went still. Her whole being protested, a shameless moan escaping her lips.

“We are almost there. We must…” He swallowed hard.

Victoria could see how tightly his jaw clenched, how his body still trembled. She glanced out the window and noted that they would soon turn onto the road to Colborne House and pass through the gate.

“Victoria,” Stephen whispered reverently, inching close enough to rest his forehead against hers, his eyes closed, his breathing heavy. And then he tore himself away, gently but firmly pulling her bodice back up with trembling fingers.

Victoria lowered her feet onto the carriage floor once more. They looked at each other, words unspoken floating between them. What was there to be said when their bodies spoke louder?

He reached down and plucked a hairpin from the floor. He gave it to her with a look that consumed her whole, that teased how delicious it would be to throw caution to the wind. But his restraint won.

He sat back on his seat and struggled to adjust his cravat. By the time they reached Colborne House, her hair was neat, his cravat almost perfect, her bodice in place, their composure restored.

Still, Victoria knew that nothing would ever be the same.